A Less than Perfect Reflection
by VoiDreamer
Summary: In another, darker, life Hawke lives in Kirkwall not as a refugee, but as scion of the Amell family, poised to take over the leadership of Kirkwall. But in a city where corruption and deception are everything, can she find the means to save anyone?
1. Chapter 1: Origin

**AN:** A bit of an experiment that I've been putting together in those moments of free time. I wanted to explore how much the events of DA2 would have changed (or perhaps not changed) based on the simple premise that Lady Hawke had been raised as the proper heir of the Amell family - and was such entitled to all the trappings of wealth.

These will probably be more snapshots than actual chapters - but we'll see :) As always, feedback or suggestions are much loved.

~Voi

P.S. I don't own anything you recognize!

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><p><strong>Kirkwall: One Year Before the Blight Arrives in Ferelden<strong>

_In her dream there are two fearsome creatures doing war in a city of chains, tearing through stone and flesh, scorching the land around them in their quest to destroy the other. _

_Mage and Templar, she knows their titles though neither looks familiar, looks _right.

_Around her people run for their lives and she watches as men, women and children are swallowed by the tremendous flames of the chaos. All dead, none of them at fault – innocents caught between two very different forces. _

_She should be running, distantly she knows that somehow, someway she will be able to escape unscathed. But just as she turns to leave she catches sight of those that stand behind her. Six of them, _friends_, her mind supplies, the word working only to confuse her more, warriors, rogues and mages. _

_She shudders at the last, she _hates_ mages. _

_Mysterious and too powerful for their own good, she grits her teeth as she tries to look beyond the shadowy veil that obscures the features of her 'friends' to find out just who they are. _

_Behind her the fires of the city roar ever louder and she abandons her search not long after, she does not have more time to waste. The world is changing and she must do _something_. _

_Hands coming up to retrieve the blades at her back, she reaches for her weapons intent on their use. Smooth and familiar in weight, her hands are on them for only a second before they disintegrate into fine powder. But where there had once been blades shines a new weapon, a staff of fine craftsmanship. _

_A tool of a _mage_. _

_And though she should not have a choice, though she should accept what has been given to her, she refuses. There is nothing she can do to stop it then, and she is forced to watch in horror as the world around her burns with only her screams to fill the terrible void of _nothing_ left behind. _

_Because it is her choice…and the world will have to live with her decision. _

Marian Amell-Hawke opened her eyes with a snap, finding her hands white-knuckled as they clenched her bed sheets. Fighting back a scream of terror, she struggled to breathe through her nose, forcibly slowing the rapid rise and fall of her chest, taking control of her body once more. It had been many years since she had last dreamt anything and for the dreams to start _now_ of all times was…she exhaled through her mouth feeling the warm air escape into the chill of the room, _inconvenient_.

She had company.

Turning to her side, the woman admired the man lying beside her; he really was beautiful. Then again, it had not been his looks that had intrigued her so.

Idling running a hand through the messy length of her hair, she observed her sleeping lover out of the corner of her eye. Tussled blond hair, burnt gold in the dim light, the richness of its color contrasted with the sharp pale of his skin, the subtle musculature of his back. The memory of their coupling was not long dimmed and she could still recall the flex of his body as he drove into her, the way he had forced soft gasps to rush past her parted lips in startled pleasure. Eyeing the bruises on her wrists she flexed her hands to test for stiffness.

She was amused that he had remained here until morning; he had never done so before. Still, the experience was as troubling as it was unusual, and her smile was quick to fade away.

How strange that she could not stand mages and yet she had invited this one into her bed many times before. He knew her more intimately than anyone else, and her body was an instrument so finely tuned that only _he_ was capable of playing it with success.

"Oh Anders…"

She sighed softly at she pressed a soft kiss onto his bare shoulder, smoothing over the angry red marks she had left there last night, "I hope you wake up soon."

Slowly extricating herself from his warm embrace and the silky touch of her sheets, Marian flicked one lingering look at the daggers on her desk before ringing the servants for hot water. Baths were her one indulgence, and she never left her room without one.

She had only just finished washing when he woke, sitting upright so that the silk sheets pooled at his waist, revealing the warm flesh she had enjoyed several hours earlier. Wrapped as she was in only a bolt of linen, Marian entertained the idea of using him once more before promptly dismissing the thought. They both had more important worries now.

"How long until the Templars arrive?"

His voice was calm, almost conversational as he questioned her. In contrast his eyes burned though with lust or anger it was impossible for her to say. Coming to sit beside him, she traced the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the beard growth that shadowed his jaw. Her sister would like him, she decided, and not just because Anders was good-looking.

And yet, no sooner had the thought crossed her mind when Marian felt the familiar pang of sadness in her chest. As the eldest child, she had been returned to Kirkwall to be raised by her grandparents until their death several years ago. Having shown no sign of magic as a child, she had been named heir to the Amell estate and had done what she could to advance their family. Bethany had not been as lucky, and her innate magical ability manifested itself early, forcing the remainder of their family to live secretly in the small Ferelden hamlet of Lothering.

She had only small paintings to remind her of the family she had there. It was unlikely she would ever see any of them in her lifetime.

"Marian, how long ago do I have until the Templars show up?"

Anders asked her again, rousing her from her thoughts, though this time when she focused on him she found him fully clothed. Moving towards her own drawers, she gave him one last appraising glance before smiling slightly, "Not more than ten minutes."

And then she turned to where her clothes were waiting, effectively dismissing him. Cold, impersonal, it was the heir of the Amell fortune that turned this apostate away. Behind her the door groaned softly on its hinges and she breathed a small sigh of relief as she slowly refocused herself.

But no sooner has she eased her guard when his arms settled around her waist, drawing her back towards a warm chest

"Don't cry too much when I'm gone, Marian." The mage teased lightly as he pressed a last lingering kiss to her neck, "I'll always come back for you."

"What makes you think I'll worry about you at all?"

Her voice was cold, unfeeling. And yet it was with an easy laugh that Anders deflected her ire, noting with a fond smile that she could never look him in the eye as she lied.

"I know you far better than you would like, Love." And though he pressed one last kiss to her hair, smoothed a knowing hand over her breast in a tease, it was without another word that he turned and left the room, pausing only to close the door with a muted 'click.'

It would be nearly a year before their lives crossed again, and by then they would be different people in very different circumstances.

But that was in a future Marian had yet to experience, and she things yet to do. Dressing in a suitable suit and coat of pale green she paused only to retrieve her dual blades before she too disappeared into Kirkwall's bustle.

There were mages that needed collecting.

She should have known it would come down to this, how many times has it happened? How familiar was the smell of blood as yet another mage turned to the forbidden in order to escape their fate?

The only thing that made the situation worse was that the girl's mother still believed her child could be saved, that despite everything, every _horror_ that had been inflicted on her, the old woman begged for her daughter's life.

"Please, Serah Hawke, have mercy – my daughter is a mage just like you!"

"Mercy?" Marian scoffed as her hands found the blade at her side, her mouth twisting into a cold smile. "There will be no mercy for a mage who does not follow the rules of the Circle, who willfully engages in blood magic. Kirkwall already has filth enough to crowd the lower districts; I will not tolerate blood mages as well."

Pressing her foot down more strongly on the neck of the beaten and bloodied mage, Marian snarled, "And I am no mage, messere. Someone has clearly fed you lies."

"Please don't kill my child," the woman begged, her eyes overflowing with tears, begging for compassion, "She is my oldest; she became this way to protect her siblings against those that would see us turned out."

"Choosing blood magic is not a choice at all," Marian's voice was hard, uncompromising as she looked down at her feet, "The Viscount, the Chantry and the Circle of Kirkwall all stand against it. She knew better."

"Messere, _please_."

But it was too later, her decision long since made up; Marian delivered the killing blow amidst the half-angry shriek of the mage-girl, the pain filled howl of the mother.

Blood mages always left such a mess when they died.

Wiping the worst of the gore from her face, Marian did not have to look at the woman's face to know the devastation she had caused by carrying out the death sentence, did not have to hear to pitiful sobs behind her to know how cruel she had been.

"I killed your daughter as a service to Kirkwall; it was not that I wished her dead simply because she was a mage."

"And yet she is dead either way." There was brokenness in the woman's voice, a hopelessness borne of harsh experience. "What is to become of her siblings now…will Kirkwall step forward to defend them from abuse too?"

"If you can stomach it," Marian cast a long look behind her, "You and your remaining children may come to live with me. It would make no sense to let your daughter's sacrifice be in vain."

And though the woman could scarcely think beyond the horror of her daughter's death, could scarcely make sense of all the blood that slicked the other woman, she would find herself outside the Amell estate a week later. Marian never mentioned what had happened, but the woman was accepted into her service, and the two children found themselves educated by private tutors.

Warm she was not, but Marian Hawke-Amell looked after her own.

"Here are the reports you requested Viscount."

Long feminine hands passed the delicate parchment into the hands of the steward, the large Amell sigil ring glinting in the afternoon light.

Standing just inside the Viscount's office, Marian Hawke waited patiently for the man to receive the documents, face carefully neutral as he read through her work. Dressed in his customary black, Marian could not remember if the lord Viscount had ever thought to wear another color, another shade other than that impenetrable cloth of his ranking.

"And what became of the lost mages in Lowtown?"

His question was spoken with all the familiar rumblings and intonations of one educated at the Chantry. The viscount had been raised a nobleman and it was for this reason that the nobles of Kirkwall respected him, enough to overlook his marriage to a woman of much lower social rank and inferior breeding.

"I located the one female mage," Marian stood respectfully still; "She had started learning blood magic at the behest of the other runaways and there was little to be done. I had to remove her, she was too much a threat to leave unchecked."

An expression of sorrow settled across the Viscount's face and he looked up at her suddenly aged, "She was hardly more than a child, wasn't she?"

Marian nodded but said nothing. She would not apologize for killing a blood mage, but neither could she feel pride over slaying a girl too young to have known what she was getting into.

Sighing, the Viscount pressed his brow to hid folded hands, "Please, find the others and deal with them. I know you'll try to bring them in peacefully, so I won't waste time reminding you about our duty as nobility."

"I will do my best, Viscount."

The Amell heir bowed low in promise, touching in brow in reverence before turning to leave. But she had not yet crossed the threshold when she was called back.

"Serah Hawke."

Marian paused, her face set in the calm mask though her eyes betrayed her curiosity.

"Yes Lord Dumar?"

She did not bother to correct him, to remind him that in Kirkwall it was the name _Amell_ that mattered. There was a lengthy pause before the Viscount spoke again; seemingly gathering his thoughts before asking what was weighing so heavily on his mind.

"Have you given consideration to my son's proposal? Seamus is…most anxious for a reply."

A father worried about his son, Marian smiled gently at the thought, pleased at last to see some sign that Kirkwall's leader had as much heart as mind. His son was perhaps the Viscount's most cherished family member, and though Marian had wondered if perhaps Seamus was not too young for marriage, the boy had come to her himself to propose.

He was, in all things, a very earnest young man.

"I will have an answer for him within the week;" For nearly a month she had debated the benefits of such an alliance, perhaps now would be the best time to write her mother, to ask her opinion. She didn't doubt the alliance would benefit Amell bloodline but that didn't mean she couldn't get another view on the subject.

"Tell him to meet me at the Chantry when next I send a messenger."

It was the last thing she said before she bowed once more, leaving the Viscount's keep to return to her own estate.

However, no sooner had she entered the main hall when she came spied a familiar face. Heavily creased with age and framed with the greying hair of one who had lived through many years, Marian smiled as she welcomed him further inside.

"Hello Denarius." Marian gestured to a well-stuffed leather chair as she summoned a servant for the appropriate trappings of hospitality.

A stern man of little warmth, they had met several years earlier and come to a respectful understanding. Even then, despite the favors and business deals, Marian knew him only as a wealthy merchant of the Tevinter. Offering him his customary cup of tea, it was only when he began to drink that she sank against her own chair to enjoy the company.

"What brings you to Kirkwall this time of year?"

It was indeed unusual for her business associate to near the city so near to the rainy season. Something serious must have happened, and so Marian found herself unsurprised when Danarius frowned deeply before answering.

"One of my…servants…has run away with something valuable. I believe he might be here in Kirkwall, hiding."

Marian had never had anything but loyalty from those she employed so the thought of such betrayal was near unthinkable. Folding her hands in her lap, the young scion leaned forward, eyes glittering.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Cold eyes seemed to asses her, and decide favorably. Danarius had always had an unknown quantity, a mystery that Marian had never been able to unravel. So when it was that when the aged merchant withdrew the small painted portrait of an elf that the young Amell Heiress was caught entirely unawares.

It seemed more a lover's token than image of a wayward servant-turned-thief. Then again, knowing the tendencies of the nobility and rich merchants of Kirkwall, perhaps it was not that unusual to think the elf had been both.

Taking the small panel, Marian brought it closer to her face, examining the portrait that seemed exquisitely rendered. Staring up at her were a pair of the most startling green eyes, milky cool and yet there was no mistaking the sharpness of that gaze, the arrogance and temper beneath that elven face.

If the elf had been Danrius' lover then Marian could not deny the older man had fine taste. He looked as if he would be a wonderful bedmate…a perfect thief too.

"What is his name?"

Her voice was calculating, demanding as she drew the image closer to her face.

From behind his hands, Denarius watched her and smiled, dark eyes glittering.

"I call him Fenris, my little wolf."


	2. Chapter 2: Beast

AN: Thanks for all the feedback - I appreciate all the readership and reviewers that this fledging has gathered :)

As always I don't own anything - and anything you recognize belongs to Bioware not me!

Enjoy, and as always, I appreciate feedback in all its forms!

~Nina

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><p>The letter from her mother came four days later, the words supportive if slightly surprised at the suddenness of Marian's mention of marriage.<p>

Marian read the letter only once before setting it aside. The responsibility and final decision would fall to her, just as she had expected. Sighing softly, the young woman sat down at her vanity and set about plaiting her long hair, threading a deep red ribbon in with her hair as was fashionable for women her age. The work of her fingers gave her mind time to think, to decide the course of action best suited for her family.

_Will you really be happy as wife to the Viscount's son?_

Anders had asked her that question the week after he had stumbled upon the letter, waiting until they had both been consumed by the warm afterglow of a night full of lovemaking. He was sharp that way, her mage. Marian glanced at her bed with a small frown; Anders had always strove to seem carefree, but even he had known when she was most likely to assuage his requests, to answer the most personal of questions.

He had been a good lover, attentive, and gentle. But to Marian he would always be a mage, and that was a line she believed she would never be able to cross. At least, that was what she told herself as she spread the well-worn marriage proposal in front of her and reread the familiar words.

Political marriages were still common in Kirkwall, and Marian had no problem accepting that she would be entering into such a relationship if she married Seamus. She had known the boy since she had arrived in the city, and they were polite acquaintances if not exactly friends. Her grandparents had been both in favor of the match when they were alive, and even on their death bed, when Marian had been helping her uncle nurse them both, they had pressed her for a promise. She would do what she could to ensure the strength of the Amell name.

There were women many years her junior who had long since accepted matches. Seamus was neither older than her father nor a cruel man, his family well respected in Kirkwall. Truly the match would only benefit them both; Marian had no doubt that Seamus would treat her respectfully, as befitting a Viscount's son.

No sooner had she resolved to accept the proposal when sounds of chaos reached her, shouts of distress coming from the servants' quarters.

Reacting instinctively, Marian grabbed her weapons as she took off for the sounds of her staff, her expression darkening the closer she drew. All thoughts of the impending proposal vaporized as her rage grew. If anyone thought to harm those who lived with her then they were going to find themselves unpleasantly interrupted.

Pushing the door to the living quarters open, Marian scanned the hall to find several of the doors open, and the shouts of her servants coming from the upper floor.

"Serah Amell!"

It was one of the young children she had brought into her household not a week earlier, and as she spied the tear streaked face, her anger grew. The boy was clutching an overstuffed plush Nug, and had obviously hidden when the noise had started. It did not, however, mean his siblings or mother were safe.

"Lyra, what is going on?"

Unwilling to frighten the boy by yelling and yet too tense to add a smile to the end of her question, Marian struggled to remain patient as the young boy gathered the courage to answer.

"A s-strange man came into the house through the pantry. He frightened mother and she went to get the guards. He followed her…I don't know what happened next," the boy sobbed then, burying his little face in his hands, "Mother told me to hide…I don't know where she is. What if she's hurt?"

Marian didn't waste time trying to console the boy, indeed she had no idea what it was she would say to him. But she sent him to her room, telling him to hide there, where it was safe. And when he had disappeared down the hall she turned once more to the task at hand.

She found the serving woman cowering in the corner of the spinning room, shielding her younger child with her body though she trembled from fright. Stepping cautiously into the room, Marian drew the blade from her back as her eyes scanned the stacks of yarn, sewing tools and other materials.

"Mara…are you alright?"

Pitching her voice low, the woman had only barely nodded, her face panic-stricken, when Marian sensed the shadow of another fall upon her. Turning swiftly, she had barely enough time to produce a suitable block before the weight of a _very_ large sword was upon her, nearly forcing her to her knees. Gritting her teeth at the strength behind that blade, it was only when she pivoted, kicking the man in the chest, that she put distance enough between them to _look_ at him.

She had seen that face too recently to ignore, had been too struck by his image to forget his name. He seemed so much more vibrant in real life, more dangerous than even the painter had been able to capture.

"Fenris."

His name crossed her lips with all the force of a strike, and his head snapped up, green eyes piercing her own. There was a terrible violence, a rage, in the look her gave her – in the bitter twist of his lips.

"So it _was_ you, the friend Danarius sought to help him." The elf snarled and the sword came down with enough force to splinter the stone at their feet, "You will not live to see me sent back in chains, I _refuse_."

He knew how to use his weapon and the marking on his skin were _glowing_. Strange though it was, unsettling and perhaps even intimidating, Marian refused to back down. Tightening the grip on her dual blades, she tipped her head back in a challenging smirk.

"Whether I consider Danarius a friend or foe is of no consequence to that woman behind me. Let her leave unharmed and we can continue this discussion."

She _would_ see this man killed for threatening her household, for daring to threaten _her_, but the innocents would need sanctuary. There were some things that demanded honor, this was one of them. She growled under her breath as she balanced on the balls of her feet, readying for the moment the threat to her servants was gone.

"Very well."

Taking a careful step to the side, the white haired elf allowed the serving woman and her child to hurry past before he took his position in front of the door once more. It was then that Marian exploded into motion, whipping one blade out in front of her, throwing it as the backwards motion of her toss loosened the dagger at her belt, sliding into her now-empty hand. The throwing knife embedded itself in the wood behind his head, and though it had missed his throat, Marian grinned at the scarlet that bloomed on his cheek.

Hissing, he retaliated with a heavy swing of his sword, forcing her back to avoid being cut in half. Half stumbling over a crate of expensive silks, Marian ducked behind another crate to avoid a low sweep, and rolled across the ground to get behind him. Unencumbered by her lack of armor, she had time to strike at the exposed skin at his back before she was forced to once more duck out of the way.

For a man Danarius had called merely 'thief' it was with increasing suspicion that Marian fought a man who seemed more akin to 'warrior.' Clearly her associate had not been entirely truthful with what information he had given her.

"Why have you come to my home?"

She did not believe he would respond, but she would seek her answers regardless. Whether it be by questioning Danarius or asking this elven warrior, it did not matter to her. Marian sucked in her breath as she deflected another shuddering blow, her arms aching at the exertion. She braced herself before pressing forward, forcing _him_ backwards amidst a flurry of arcs and practiced flourishes.

It was only when she had backed him into a corner that he spat out the answer she had expected.

"Danarius considers you a friend, that is enough a reason to kill you."

Smiling grimly, Marian forced him back another step taking pleasure in the way the blood ran down his neck. She bore several cuts from their fight, and it suited her that he wore the same.

"I suppose that I should not be surprised to find you are a murderer as well as thief."

A look of anger and annoyance crossed the others' face, "I am no thief. What Danarius lost is through his own arrogance, I did not ask this to be done to me."

And though Marian meant to ask him what he meant, could barely make sense of what it was Fenris was speaking, she found herself suddenly overpowered, _thrown_ across the room in the next second.

Gasping at the impact of her body against the angular, unforgiving edges of the room's contents Marian struggled to her feet as fast as she could, body throbbing in agony.

He advanced on her with little ceremony, sword coming up in a blow that was intended to rend her in two. She was not to have it, and with a tempered growl, she hooked both her blades close to the hilt as he brought his weapon down, using his own momentum to drive the weapon from his hands.

A small triumph, Marian confronted him, eyes glittering in open rebellion, swords once more at the ready against his own unarmed state.

She was no delicate aristocrats, no Orlesian flower that had to be so carefully cosseted and protected. Sliding into a guarded pose she slowly circled him, eyeing the weakness of his back, the way he favored his right leg.

Her name was Marian Amell – Hawke, scion to the Amell house, and quite possibly future Viscount of Kirkwall. She _would_ protect herself just as she would defend her people.

But as she turned, readying for the final blow, the markings on his skin flared brighter, near blinding as he moved suddenly, rapidly. Watching in surprise as his hand, with its long tipped nails, seemed to smolder before her eyes, Marian knew instinctively she had to move. But between one beat and the next he was upon her, bearing down as a feral snarl distorted his elegant features. And though she twisted to avoid the first fist, Marian knew it would be too late to completely avoid the second blow. Years of training forced to make the split-second decision to take the hit in her arm rather than chest, avoiding a death blow.

But even Marian was not prepared, could not hide her sudden shock, as she felt his hand pass _through_ her, the metal tipped claw bunching into the muscles of her shoulder a split second before before excruciating pain exploded in her mind.

And though distantly she could hear the sound of Fenris being thrown back, away from her body by _something_ powerful, she was too far gone to completely understand. It was only of blood and pain that she thought, and the darkness was a welcome reprieve from them both.

It was the soft murmur of voices that slowly brought her to consciousness. A tide of noise that seemed to rise higher with every agonizing breath she took. Sucking in once last shuttering breath, Hawke opened her eyes to find herself face to face with the anxious stares of her servants, her uncle and a distraught Seamus Dumar.

"My lord?" Addressing the younger, nobler, man first, Marian frowned ever so slightly. "What brings you to my bedside."

"What brings me to...?" Seamus repeated her words before trailing off in disbelief, "Marian, you've been unconscious for nearly a week. The news has been all over Kirkwall. My father and…_I've_ been worried about you."

Unexpectedly, the young man placed his hand on her cheek, smoothing some invisible mark there.

"If everyone would please leave us."

Voice gentle but firm he addressed all those gathered, clearing the room with little problem and no protest. Waiting until the door had closed, Seamus sighed, pushing elegant hands through already tussled hair. Watching him still his movements as he fell into contemplative silence, Marian's frown deepened.

"Seamus? Is something wrong?"

She moved her hand until it brushed the corner of his doublet, unable to do more because of the lancing pain in her arm. Biting back the wave of nausea, Marian swallowed delicately and sought his expression.

"My lord?"

"They caught the elf who attacked you; he's being imprisoned in the Gallows." Bright eyes turned to look at her, flashed with anger, "I wish they had killed him instead."

The words were unlike anything Marian had expected, and indeed her surprised expression seemed to spur the younger man further.

"You nearly died," Seamus' words were terse, "The healers were certain that you were going to, and it was only because father _forced_ them to that they pushed as hard as they did. Even then…"

Slowly he sat beside her, taking her left arm in his large hands. Gentle despite their size, he skimmed the smooth skin of her forearm, up until he brushed the rounded crest of her shoulder.

"You won't be able to move this arm anymore," his voice was a hoarse whisper, tinged with a sympathy that Marian could barely stand, "Not as much anyway."

"I don't _want_ your pity Seamus." Her words were clipped, almost rude as she turned away from him, internalizing the news. "Even if I'm crippled it has nothing to do with you unless -"

Strange, but the flash of pain in her chest was more emotional than physical. Marian had long since thought herself incapable of being hurt in such a way. Still, she was an _Amell_ and she would not shy away from the subject, no matter how…sensitive.

"You don't want to be tied to me anymore, do you?" It was a struggle not to infuse the words with emotion, to keep them as calm and even as if she were inquiring about the weather.

The hands on her arm tightened ever so slightly, to get her attention. And though she was a stubborn, willful sort of woman, Marian did eventually acquiesce to his request, turning to look the younger man in the face.

"How can you even ask that of me?"

His words, much like his expression were tender though wounded by the thoughts Marian had voiced so openly. "Am I really such a man that would abandon you after offering a marriage contract? Have I so little honor in your eyes?"

"It is not a matter of honor, Seamus. I know you, boy, and your honor would keep you wed to me even if I became an abomination."

Softly, _so_ softly, Seamus touched her cheek, wiping the single tear from her eye as he murmured to her, closing his large hands around her own trembling ones.

"Oh Marian." Seamus sighed, "Though you are older than me, sometimes I do wonder. Did I not tell you that I would love no other? That it would be the highest of honors to have you as my wife and mother to my children?"

"You said those words many months ago." Marian swallowed back the emotion that threatened to overcome her, "_Before_ I was crippled."

And though he knew it would take many more times before she would believe him, Seamus Dumar smiled tenderly and brushed a feathery kiss to her bruised knuckles.

"I still mean them now."

It was nearly a week before Marian was strong enough to walk around, two weeks before she had the strength for taking her usual walks around the city. And though she eventually found herself to be little worse off than before, the attack had left its lasting impression on those who knew her. Even now, as she walked along the orderly buildings of High town, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun, she was distinctly aware of the men who followed after her, bodyguards of the Dumar family.

"Please wait here."

Giving her order, Marian didn't wait to see if she would be followed. Up ahead, resplendent in the rare burst of winter sun, the Templar's precinct.

She was led to the holding cell not long after, her skin almost ghostly in the cold blue light of the lower levels. On either side of her were fully armed Templars, the best the order had to offer, and Marian wondered not for the last time if the number of iron-clad, multi-locked doors was more to demoralize than actual functional use; she had already passed four and was quickly approaching a fifth.

"Serah Amell, please wait here."

There was the clinking of heavy metal keys as yet another set of locks was released, and it was here, behind _this_ door that she stepped into the room that abutted the actual prison cell.

He was just as beautifully dangerous as she remembered. Sleek muscle rippled as he uncoiled from the bed upon which he had been sitting on, green eyes sharpening as he spotted her. Coming to stand within an arm's length of the cell bars, Fenris' face twisted into a look of distain but he remained silent.

He looked so defiant standing there, as if _she_ were the one locked behind those bars awaiting judgment. And there, around his wrist, was wrapped the red ribbon that had been in her hair. Watching the dirty cell light filter across the expensive scarlet silk Marian felt her throat clench in anger, in another emotion she refused to identify.

"The ribbon there, it belongs to me."

Her voice was tightly controlled, her eyes staring unblinkingly into the eyes of that animal behind bars. Her shoulder throbbed in pain.

"Is it?" The guard captain sounded surprised beneath the metal of his helmet, "We had thought it something belonging to a lover or family member. He wouldn't let us take it."

"Is there no way to get it back?"

Her fingers were clenched at her sides, white knuckled as she stared at the prisoner and the stillness of his body. Across his face the corners of his mouth tugged upwards in a mockery of a smile.

"He killed three of the guards the last time we tried," next to her the guard captain shifted uncomfortably, "We haven't even been able to clean the blood from the walls since. That was nearly a month ago…he's near feral, messere, like a beast."

"Do you intend to kill him like one then?" Marian wanted to know, hand idly coming to rub the crest of her shoulder where the ache lingered, "Kill him like the animal he is?"

"We should." The reply came swiftly and filled with anger, "But his fate is to be determined by _you_ messere. Whatever you demand for your injury will be justice enough."

It went unsaid that the enemies of the Amell famlly had, in the past, met with gruesome deaths, none of them swift or with acts of mercy. Marian has, as heir, carried out the Amell sense of justice on many occasions.

"Serah Amell?"

She wanted to hurt him, that elven servant. Looking at his arrogant posture and that condescending expression made every evil thought seem suddenly more appealing, a more acceptable punishment than any justice Kirkwall would be willing to administer.

But to act on those impulses, to lower herself to the level of that _beast,_ would be equally unacceptable. And as she slowly came to her decision, she could not help but smile back at the prisoner, for she would indeed have her revenge.

"Go to my home and ring for my guest," She ordered, "He should be there waiting for me."

"Your guest, messere?"

"Yes…ask for Serah Danarius. Tell him…" Marian chucked under her breath as she took a step closer to where her prey stood.

"Tell him… we have his pet wolf."


End file.
